


Ephemeral

by AvaCelt



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Ableist Language, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Dark Continent Arc, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gen, Ghosts, Gore, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hunter X Hunter Big Bang, HxHBB18, M/M, hxhbb, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 01:55:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14415150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaCelt/pseuds/AvaCelt
Summary: The piano piece of the Dark Sonata has appeared deep within the treasure trove of the Kakin Royal Family. Compelled by its lure, Senritsu rejects Kurapika's offer to join the expedition as a bodyguard, and instead sneaks into the ship under the guise of a peasant searching for a better life. Hidden in the subaltern, she shadows the princes as she pieces together the secrets behind the notes. Meanwhile, a clown stalks a cluster of spiders, but catches a hint of a melody in the wind. Putting his initial quest on hold, he offers a helping hand to the short woman. Following close behind is Kurapika, his heart torn between the Scarlet Eyes and Senritsu's song. Maybe it's fate, or maybe it's the evil seeping out of every corner of the ship, but either way, a song haunts the hallways. It's a song Senritsu knows well. It may be the last song she ever hears- and the last song she ever plays.





	1. Corona

**Author's Note:**

> Canon-compliant through Chimera Ant Arc. Dark Continent Expedition Arc AU. Not for the faint of heart, spooky ghost story.
> 
> Here's my [Hunter x Hunter Big Bang 2018 Fanart!!!](https://art-little-nonsense.tumblr.com/post/175319673233/it-is-time-for-hxhbb18-my-illustration-for) Big thanks to [art-little-nonsense](https://art-little-nonsense.tumblr.com/) for illustrating my fanfiction. Thank you so much! Readers, please check out their other art!
> 
> Again, a big thanks to [art-little-nonsense](https://art-little-nonsense.tumblr.com/) and thank you, readers! This is my second HxH Big Bang, and I thoroughly enjoyed the heck out of it like I did last year. Hopefully, I'll see you all again next year!

She stood in her wide-brimmed hat and peasant garb, breathing in the cold air. Her nostrils stung and her lungs protested, but she inhaled. There was a certain kind of peace taking in the icy breeze into her chest, as if its wintery burn could freeze her core and permanently numb her for good.

The harbor was just as busy as she expected. Peasants and royals bustled along, entering the Black Whale in steady streams. Her hands shook as she exhaled. She counted two, three, ten seagulls, and then she counted close to forty nen users in her vicinity. She suspected that there were more, but she couldn't be sure, not when her thoughts were muddy and her fingers cold. Her ears ached. The faded brown dress and hemmed slacks were cheap but usable, the jacket threadbare, the shawl picked off an alley street because it smelled like rose perfume.

A melody drifted with the wind. Senritsu shuddered.

She learned of the piece while listening for frogs. She wanted to learn their rhythm, see if she could pick up a pattern that she could then transform into a tune. The plan was to sell the tune for exorbitant amounts of money, and then use the money to continue her search for the Dark Sonata. It was a fine plan, a plan she'd used many times in her life, a plan that helped her pull inspiration from birds, fish, the wind, and even special flowers. Hunting a demon took resources, and those resources could only be bought with astonishing amounts of money, money not even the Nostrade family could offer in exchange for being their bodyguard. Even if she was perceived as a troll by the rest of humanity, she was still a fair musician, if no longer a fair maiden. Frogs- she had hoped to hear a croak that would leave her light in the chest, but instead, their song had become interlaced with a heavy Padokean drawl, and the sharp sounds of nature were poisoned by the talk of a song, a song that could sell for ten billion jennies. Seven voices, hundreds of frogs, and a Dark Sonata- Senritsu had almost fallen out of the tree she was sitting in, but managed to reign herself in long enough to hear the details.

She still wished it was a nightmare, something that could easily be forgotten with a warm glass of milk sweetened with honeysuckle. She'd had enough in her life. She had a ritual that helped alleviate the anxiety they sparked inside of her, a procedure that helped her move on with her day and continue her quest, a design that helped her to survive. Routine, after all, was the best coping strategy.

They had been music hunters from the black market, the same market Senritsu worked in, but she had never sold music to a serial killer. And yet, business was business for some people. These hunters had a name, a date, and a plan to grab a piece of music for a monster who was willing to pay billions. It was aboard a ship, guarded by a mad prince, all possessed by a king more dangerous than any Chimera Ant the Hunter Association had fought thus far. They had left, the frogs had never stopped croaking, and thus a fog settled in Senritsu's chest.

She'd haggled for tickets and managed to get one. She'd refused to take up Kurapika's invitation onto the ship as one of the Prince's personal security guards, and had instead created a persona to help guide her through the fringes of the peasant class, unknown and mostly unseen. It made things that much more difficult, but she wasn't a fool. Walking into the Whale under the guise of a bodyguard would have meant taking responsibility for the Prince she would have been assigned to, and the Dark Sonata was only ever happy when it had her full and undivided attention. It was meant to do one of two things in the end anyway- restore her body, or kill her for good. She couldn't protect a life if her own wasn't worth anything. Her goal was the thing hidden aboard the ship, not the safety of a human being who deserved a better guardian. She wasn't a saint. She knew Kurapika would find someone else, someone better. There was only room for protectors and destroyers, and Senritsu had come to destroy something. There was no use in pretending anyone would be safe.

 _What compels you?_ She heard it say in her head. It had the voice of her dead friend, but she knew it wasn't him. Zorik had been dead since she was sixteen. She was twenty-three now, and he was nothing but a pile of ashes that had long since dissolved into the bay back home.

“I won't let them get it,” she said softly, so soft that her words were barely audible even to her.

_The Nostrade girl is dead because of you. Shouldn't you have protected her?_

Tears stung her eyes, but she wiped them away with a quivering hand. She's cut contact with the Nostrade family three days before Neon Nostrade was brutally murdered. The guilt cut her deep when she found out from her acquaintances, but it had passed just as quickly, as if she were hollow within. The press hadn't found out yet, and wouldn't until after the Black Whale had left its dock. The Kakin royals wouldn't allow the Nostrade family to upstage them. Neon had already been buried in a private tomb, her body barely recognizable after a monster finished her off with the aid of a chainsaw and candles.

The circumstances of her death were avoidable, but Death itself came for everyone eventually. It came for Neon when Senritsu had to disappear into the shadows to hunt the Dark Sonata, when Kurapika had to follow his clan's eyes, when both her protectors had to leave to hunt that which they desired the most. Now, it had come for Senritsu. There was no atonement for this. She had the choice to leave, and so she did. To Kurapika, Neon was a means to an end, so he left too. They left, and Neon died.

She wondered if anyone told Kurapika.

All Senritsu had was the song, a lure that compelled her into dropping everything and hightailing to a dock in worn clothes and a wide-brimmed hat. It both beckoned and repulsed her- like a siren's song, one that no one else could hear but her. It was Death signaling its arrival, she knew, but she'd rather drown in a vast ocean and disappear into its depths than have her few friends and fewer acquaintances bury her mangled corpse back home where people didn't even recognize her anymore.

And so she stood at the harbor, letting the cold air prickle her skin, listening to the seagulls sing as Death whispered her name.

* * *

Some yards away, the sun hit smooth, dark brown skin in just the right way. A beautiful face framed by blood red hair earned leers from men and women alike, but the creature with a dancer's figure paid them no mind. Instead, he smelled the air, sniffing for the raw, unbridled fear that had prickled his senses when he'd first strolled into the harbor. He licked his lips. On a harbor this busy with humans, reeking of shit and misery, fear was palpable. Yet, only one being emanated true apprehension, the kind of horror only experienced by those who were truly damned. He sucked in a deep breath, the taste of fear accompanied by a hint of a melody. His penis twitched with arousal, and he couldn't help but expel a soft moan. That earned more stares than he cared for, so he hardened his expression, and let his beady little eyes search for the person who'd broken his concentration on the Spiders, and wrestled it over to them. His lip twitched, as he wondered if it could be one of the Princes. They were all set to die except one, after all, but the fear of Death wasn't so _exquisite._ Death came for everyone, after all. If you had been around long enough, you accepted a fate that thorough.

But real fear- that kind of dread was special. Few would experience it in their lives, but those that did were Hisoka's favorites.

He spied a stout little peasant standing on the edge of the harbor, gazing longingly out at the sea. The flap of a wide-brimmed hat undulated with the freezing cold air. Did he know that creature? He moved swiftly, cutting through the crowd and reaching the peasant almost instantly. His lips curled into a smile when it jumped at his arrival. Big, brown eyes stared up at him in alarm as the tiny body trembled between him and the cold, open water.

He gave her a wide, toothy grin before grasping one of her cold hands and bringing it to his lips. He kissed the back of her hand with his cold, rouged lips. Looking deeply into her shuddering gaze, he chuckled softly. “What a pleasure to meet an old acquaintance in such trying times- how are you, Senritsu?”

* * *

 

Kurapika Kurta turned around so quickly, he thought his neck would snap. They chains that were hidden beneath his sleeves shifted. Already on the boat and waiting for it to leave the wretched dock, he felt an unknown electricity crackle in the air. Just now, he thought he felt Senritsu's heart jump, but how he could even _possibly_ garner that while several stories up on the ship and guarded by layers of steel was beyond him.

He had to be dreaming. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took deep breaths. Retrieving his family's eyes and making sure Woble and his mother made it off the ship alive should have been his top priorities, but since yesterday, he had a third issue to consider, one that normally wouldn't have mattered since his rage hadn't even allowed him to visit Gon while the little boy lay on Death's door. He was a horrible friend, and he'd admit as such on any given day, but the day Biscuit Krueger had informed that Senritsu would be on the boat searching for the Dark Sonata while he hunted for his family's eyes, something inside of him clenched so harshly that he became paralyzed for several minutes.

The music that had turned his friend into her current state was on the ship, and there was a succession war in play. Kurapika ached. He didn't want to, but he did. The Dark Sonata was Senritsu's war to fight. It posed a bit of a problem, but it was _her_ problem, which is why it now made sense why she'd refused to help him. He wasn't mad when she'd said no, because why would anyone knowingly get aboard a ship with a war brewing at the top? And yet, had he known that she'd be coming aboard to hunt the Demon...

He shuddered. There was something wicked in the wind, and it sounded much like a funeral song.

* * *

“Theta... play me a song.”

“I am not a musician, Prince Tserriednich, but I can have one brought up to you.”

He pouted, playing with a loose thread of a throw hanging over the elaborate divan. “I once bought a piece of music at a bazaar for three jennies. The girl who sold it to me was very beautiful. I wanted her, mind you, and I got her, but I wondered why she sold sheet music when everyone else was selling trinkets and sex. It's been sitting at the floor of my Yorknew apartment for years now, but for some reason, I thought about getting it from that gaudy little place and bringing it with me to this ugly little ship.”

He sighed, as if the very thought of being unable to hear the song was a nuisance. He looked pained, even if he was physically fine. “I don't know why now... I forgot it even existed after I finished with the girl, but recently, I've looked at it. It's a piece for the piano, you know? I can't read it, but it excites me. It's like I can hear it in my heart, even if I can't read what it says.”

“... I can have someone brought up for you.”

He cut his eyes at her, but she didn't budge, her expression as blank as the dull white paint of the den's walls. He waved her off, and continued with the loose thread. Just outside of his chambers, a choir began to sing, but it was a choir only Tserriednich could hear, and one that sang for him and _only_ him.

* * *

“Boss, wanna team up?”

Chrollo turned around to face Shizuku and Bononelov. He gave them a long look before responding. “I'm the one who gets to kill him. That's my condition.”

Shizuku shrugged. “Of course, that's fine by us. Bono and I... we aren't suited for dealing with Hisoka's Bungee Gum at all.”

“I'm going to fight him the moment I find him. That's what I plan to do, but what about you guys?”

“I'll disguise myself and start out by looking for Hisoka,” Shizuku noted.

“I'll do the same, but instead of disguising, I'll be transforming,” Bonolenov Ndongo added.

“Hm.”

Suddenly, something clenched inside Chrollo. The pain was so sharp and vivid, he almost swooned.

“Boss?” They asked softly.

Chrollo felt a tantalizing sound vibrate through the walls, but he knew just then that only _he_ could sense it. He made a mental note to keep track of it, and hardened his visage once more. “Hm.”

Floating through the stagnant air in the bowels of the ship, someone played a flute.

* * *

He tried coaxing his penis to life. Smooth, soft hands gently jerked at the flaccid organ, but all Tserriednich managed was an odd twitch or two before the organ fell soft again. He chuckled hastily and tried pleasuring himself again, and again, one more time before his growls of frustration seamlessly melded in with the screams of the dead women.

The video replayed itself while he lay naked and unspent. He tried following the rhythms of their screams, but managed nothing. He tried following the pattern of the murders themselves, stroking himself every time he stabbed one of the girls in the recording, hoping to elicit at least a faint moan. Nothing- he whined. His videos were his _friends,_ mementos of his most precious moments with his dead girls. He had to climax, even if only for their sake. They hadn't died for nothing. They were Tserriednich's forever girls, a part of his soul, if he couldn't cum to the music of their screams and relish in their agony, then what was the point? Tears sprang in eyes.

A chorus of voices filtered through the air, deep and insistent. He jumped up from the divan, squinting at the video playing on the large television screen. When he realized the voices weren't coming from the video, he turned around to face the sea. Behind the divan was a floor-to-ceiling window reinforced with safety glass. It looked out to the water, which made Tserriednich and the undulating waves the only witnesses to his crimes. He stumbled away from the divan and towards the shatterproof glass, reaching out to the cold sea with a quivering, outstretched hand. When his pale fingers touched cold glass, he hissed as if he was stung. He tried sniffing for the voices next since his ears seemed to be no good. He nosed at the near-empty wine glass, the uneaten fruit, and even his socks, but he just couldn't place where the voices were coming from. He picked up the low coffee table, and flung it at the window. It bounced off instantly, and landed a foot away from the divan.

The sun had dipped hours ago, and the outside world was illuminated only by the ship's lights. Perhaps it was coming from down below, where the water met Death, and where Tserriednich's girls now resided.

When he tried reaching for the window again, a gentle song lulled him away from the glass and towards a chest of drawers. He crinkled his nose in disgust, but he obeyed, because before he killed his girls, he liked doing whatever they asked. He found it to be a respectful ritual, one that gave his girls their last ounce of freedom before he stole the life from their throats and added their souls to his harem.

He shuffled through the cherry-colored drawer, not quite sure what he was looking for, but vaguely content that the chorus of voices was guiding his fingers. Pushing aside some papers and some old trinkets, he picked up a sheet of brown paper folded neatly within a purple, gauzy bag. He gasped, and the voices grew slightly louder, as if urging for him to do the deed, to free himself from the bonds that shackled him to mortality.

The sheet music was incomprehensible to him. He began to laugh as the screams on the video reached a climax, _his_ climax, the climax where the last girl choked to death on her own blood while Tserriednich's pen protruded from the base of her throat. When the screams fell silent, the video replayed once more, but not before the voices urged him to take hold of the paper and make it _his._

His- hugging the music to his chest, he stumbled back onto the divan and fell onto the cushions. Settling against the red velvet, he wrapped the dull paper around his flaccid cock and began stroking himself back to life. One, two, three strokes and he remembered his first girl, a girl he'd met on a beach near the private academy he studied in until he was sixteen. He'd strangled her in the water while her hands desperately tried to climb back aboard their little boat, but even at fourteen, he was strong. He was so strong, he wanted to see Death at an intersection- one direction belonging to the drowned girl, and one to the strangled native of a small fishing community.

A thin, charred limb began guiding his movements by gently massaging his shoulders. His hand quickened and his toes curled as he felt his orgasm approach. A sharp nail dragged itself up the length of Tserriednich's naked chest while his arm pumped and squeezed his straining cock. He softly cried for his savior to keep going, to keep singing, that which was one but possessed the voices of a thousand, he begged the creature to hold him and love him while he neared his climax finally. Right before he came, the face of a drowned girl appeared right at the window looking out into the sea. Tserriednich blinked, and then a fire started. It sparked at at the tip of his weeping cock and then spread to his legs and torso, but he didn't notice because the drowned girl was there, floating hundreds of feet above the water to stare straight into his soul. That was his first girl, the only girl he ever truly loved. He reached out for her, but before he could touch the apparition, the flames engulfed his soul, and his own screams joined those of the girls still dying on the video.

* * *

 

 


	2. Kuiper Belt

The King put Theta, Salkov, Danjin, Myuhan, and Asmerov to death as soon as the Fourth Prince's charred remains were bagged and taken away from his otherwise pristine chambers the following day. Twenty-four hours into their incarceration, Asmerov slit his throat in the ship's dungeon, and Myuhan struck a deal with a Mafia family to escape torture and death. Salkov disappeared from the ship's holding by dusk the second day of their imprisonment, while Theta quietly waited for Death until the moon rose three days after Tserriednich passed. Before dawn the fourth day, she too disappeared.

King Nasubi Hui Guo Rou drank his warm ale and thought about his dead son. He crinkled his nose, quite disappointed that the man hadn't lived long enough to put on a good show. There was only so much you could expect from a blueblood, but Tserriednich had been a schemer, and it seemed a bit uncanny that he was the first to perish. Nasubi wondered which one of his other children planned the hit, and how they managed to circumvent Tserriednich's guards.

“Did they use nen?” He wondered out loud. It had been a week since his son had been burnt to a crisp. The sofa he'd been lounging on at the time of his death was perfectly fine. In fact, the only thing out of place in his quarters was a small table that had been flipped over and lying prone by the window. Even the fruit and wine were fine, poised atop a small stand next to the divan while one of Tserriednich's recordings played on loop a mere five feet away. Nasubi smirked. Whichever one of his children managed the murder had planned ahead. The cleaners had witnessed Tserriednich's crime, the maids now well-aware that the eerie prince was also a killer of women. Nasubi knew that the videos would eventually end up on the black market, and that his son's name would go down bloody infamy by the time news of his death reached the mainland. And yet, he couldn't help but feel proud of his little demon. It was all a part of the ritual, after all. Only the strongest deserved to live and rule, and Tserriednich had always been a slave to his obsession, but at least he'd made the most of that obsession. Let his name strike fear into humanity's heart, the King thought warmly.

Back in Tserriednich's quarters, a piece of clean, white paper lay discarded on top of a chest of drawers. The ink on it was still slightly damp, as if the notes etched onto the paper were freshly commissioned. When the skies darkened on the seventh evening after Tserriednich's death, and his chambers were finally forgotten, the music drifted away with the wind.

Except, there was no wind- and yet, it glided seamlessly through the ship and onwards to its destination.

* * *

“So you're... sexually attracted to fear?”

Hisoka nodded, plopping an appetizer into his mouth while Senritsu half-focused on wiping down the kitchen counter while the rest of her attention switched between following Prince Halkenburg's movements in the dining hall and listening to Hisoka's light chatter. The older man whistled a perky tune and plopped another piece of buttered shrimp into his mouth when Senritsu felt Halkenburg's heart begin to swell with emotion.

“He's crying for his brother again,” she sighed.

“You don't often get to see someone cry for a killer,” Hisoka drawled lazily before lapping at the butter coating his fingers. “Everyone knew he was a bit of a creep, but a sadomasochistic murderer?” Hisoka crinkled his nose in disgust. “Rather unbecoming of a prince, don't you think?”

She didn't answer him, and instead focused on Halkenburg's heartbeat and the foot patterns of his bodyguards. She could hear he other princes chatter about as the waitstaff served them their dinner. Prince Camilla snapped at one of her maids regarding her shoe color, while Prince Momoze gently tried to calm her sibling's rage. Senritsu's ears perked when Prince Kacho's and Prince Fugetsu's footsteps left the dining hall and entered a private bathroom. There, she sighed as she picked up patterns of Prince Kacho's emotional blustering and Fugetsu' steady whimpering.

“They're all going to die,” Hisoka reminded her. “Don't feel bad for them. They knew this day was coming since they born. It's their culture. Who are we to judge?”

“They're just children,” she replied softly. Her gaze flickered over to the reflective surface of the kitchen counter she'd finished wiping down. She stared at the reflection, the round cheeks and prominent buckteeth repulsive against the metal counter. She absently touched her bald pate, a natural reaction whenever she stared at her visage for too long. When she felt the soft skin of her head, she blinked and finally snapped back into reality.

“He's moving again,” Hisoka announced. “Alone, towards the private restroom.”

She nodded and began making her way to the only sibling who mourned Tserriednich's loss- the only sibling that could help her get access to his room and find out how he managed to die of self-combustion and not singe a single item in his vicinity.

“I smell a rat,” Hisoka drawled nonchalantly. “I'll be waiting for you in your bunk.”

“Thank you, Hisoka.”

He winked at her before sauntering off the counter and skipping off to some unimaginable corner of the ship. She gulped, still ambivalent to the help the clown was offering her, but smart enough not to question it. Finally, once Hisoka fully disappeared from her sight, she put on her servant cap, tightened her waist apron, and began making her way to where the 14th Prince was crying his heart out.

In an air vent crawling with spiders, Bonolenov waited until the clown and the troll wandered off to their separate objectives before slithering further into the veins of the Black Whale.

* * *

It was a book on bird anatomy. He'd found it in the bazaar on the peasant's deck, a dusty little paperback that belonged to quite a number of people before it ended up in Chrollo's pale, smooth hands. His lips quirked into a small smile. A book that had already been devoured this many times deserved Chrollo's utmost attention. Reading it in the confines of a bunk seemed crass, so he crawled into bed with a Mafia woman who's room included a balcony that looked out to the sea. Once she'd fallen asleep, he stepped out into the darkness with the book in hand.

The sea air brought him comfort. He didn't always enjoy being on the water, but sometimes... sometimes the cold, open void was the most comforting place in the world. The salty air tingled against his naked skin, eliciting a playful shudder from his throat. Piano music began to drift through the wind, a melancholic tune that fit Chrollo's fancy. He flipped open the old book and turned to the first page. It boasted a picture of a an ordinary bluejay, one that brought a warm smile to his face as he caressed the withered blue ink.

Before he could turn the page, the book flew out of his hand and over the railing. He reached out to the lovely little book, unable to part with it so soon. Almost as if guided by the wind itself, he barely felt the vertigo as he tumbled overboard. He kept reaching out, even when the book was no longer in sight, even when the impact broke the bones in his hands and face, even while he sank below the water and began to drown.

And yet, there was a semblance of peace in heart. The beautiful piano music followed him all the way down to the watery depths of the sea, and lying mere feet from his naked form was his little book on pretty birds. But before he could take hold of the precious little tome again, his senses began to fade and he closed his eyes.

Up above, Shizuku whispered his name once. The next second, her neck snapped, and she fell dead on top of Bonolenov's remains, the tall man previously crushed inside a metal cabinet and then scraped out with a shovel.

When the Mafia woman awoke from her deep sleep, she screamed. Lined up in front of her bed were three bodies- one wet and bloated, one crushed and unrecognizable, and one broken and arranged in the form of a dancing puppet.

* * *

 

 


	3. Eternal

Death wasn't so unique on a ship built to last a succession war.

In hindsight, he should have expected a Spider or two to scurry onboard. The Black Whale carried the future ruler of the Kakin empire. The treasures of those who died would be up for grabs for anyone with enough skill to bypass foot soldiers, Hunters, and the occasional nen-user. If Chrollo hadn't come, then other members of the Troupe would have, and if not them, then another band of thieves. His tribe had isolated themselves for a reason. They thought they were safe from the demons, but the demons had found them anyway. Their gold was gone, their bodies left to rot in the hot sun.

Their eyes- their beautiful red eyes were worth their death. All gold was blood gold.

At first, he didn't believe Biscuit when she informed him that Mafia men had scrambled into one of their lady's chambers to find three dead Phantom Troupe members at the foot of her bed. He laughed while his acquaintance gave him a grim look. But then she offered to show him the bodies, and only then did he finally manage to muzzle the mania bubbling in his chest and threatening to spill from his throat. They went to the Mafia's coroner to take a look at the corpses. Bonolenov was nothing but a pulp of skin, bandages, and bones. Murasaki Shizuku's neck was broken, and all the joints in her body had been crushed. When Chrollo's putrid form was revealed, Kurapika's hand and chains moved on their accord. He stabbed the corpse's eyes once, twice, over and over again until the blade raked over the mouth, lips, and cheeks, leaving nothing but a mush of blue skin, congealed blood, and fetid organs. An overbearing stench pulsed in the air. He sucked in the air, exhaled through his mouth, and left the coroner's without another word.

Rage, rage, rage- all Kurapika could feel was his rage.

His hands washed of the viscera and stench, he stalked towards Tserriednich's room, aiming to simply take what was his and go before he was tempted to hunt down whatever Spiders were left on the Black Whale. When he was done, he'd take Woble and Oito and disappear. There had to be a way. Two of Tserriednich's accused killers had disappeared off the boat, and if two bodyguards could manage to find an escape route through a dungeon, then Kurapika could create one using his wits and some plank. He, the youngest Queen, and the baby Prince would all be gone before daybreak.

And yet, the soft hums that urged him to continue on this path were beginning to grate his nerves. Why was Pairo singing to him right now? Couldn't he wait until Kurapika was asleep so he could haunt him in his dreams?

“Don't go.”

He stopped in his tracks and turned around. Senritsu stood some feet away, her tiny, round body even tinier underneath the red, sack-like dress she wore. He steeled his eyes, urging them to bleed red as Pairo's singing became that much clearer in his head. “Please, don't try to stop me.”

“I'm not going to.” She gave him a sorrowful look. “There are more of them on the ship, and they won't stop until they find who killed Chrollo.”

“Then let them hunt. Maybe it'll make them feel better for failing their family.” He chuckled at the irony of it all. Pairo sang to him about the fields back home, the fields that were now salted and burned, a crime Kurapika committed in a moment of sick passion.

“... don't go to the Fourth Prince's room, Kurapika- please.”

“And if I do?”

Senritsu didn't answer. She turned around and limped down the hall. Once she turned the corner and left his sight, he felt tears prickle his eyes. Pairo's voice stopped just then.

“She's trying to save your life,” Hisoka drawled as he emerged from the shadows.

Kurapika took a deep breath and turned around to lock gazes with the deadly Hunter. “You.”

“Me,” Hisoka chuckled. The clown looked him up and down and huffed. “I thought you killed them. Don't get me wrong, I'm not mad... just a little miffed. Competition is good when there's a prize, but this is vengeance. I can't take my vengeance when you're trying to take _your_ vengeance. It's such a conflict of interest. I wish your Eyes were somewhere else.”

“... Kill as many Spiders as you like. I'm leaving as soon as I retrieve the Eyes.”

Hisoka shrugged, though his expression was etched with a hint of disappointment. “I would have given you a pass. The one who _actually_ killed Chrollo and his merry little friends? Dead. I don't like my prey having to run twice as fast.”

Kurapika knew he was lying because Hisoka was never as gleeful as he was when he was chasing something. He'd hunt the killer and ask them why they were killing Spiders. Kurapika figured there was no shortage of reasons. The Phantom Troupe had killed far too many people. Their list of enemies was as long as their list of victims. And yet, they'd slipped up, and now Chrollo was dead. A Spider killer that wasn't Kurapika or Hisoka was on the ship. The remaining Troupe members would understandably be on high alert. Whoever it was that killed their leader and two of their colleagues was most likely at the top of the Troupe's hitlist now.

And from Kurapika, a soft 'thank you' from his heart- he resumed his trek towards towards Tserriednich's chambers. Just when he turned the corner, a shrill scream interrupted his movements. When he turned around, he saw a harried Hanzo come barreling down the hall towards him.

“Kurapika!”

“Hanzo!”

“Come quickly- Prince Kacho and Prince Fugetsu have disappeared from the ship!”

* * *

Senritsu cried. There was no absolution from the truth. Any other day, she would have jumped into the open water and ended her existence right there, but she couldn't now- not when she knew that Death wouldn't let her go without judging her first.

Halkenburg was easy. Manipulating a man when he was mourning was cruel, but it was necessary. She'd seen her fair share of suffering and had long ago learned how to utilize such things for personal use. Once she'd retrieved a key and the vigil patterns for the foot soldiers in charge of that floor, getting into the chamber was simple and straightforward.

There had been evil present in that room, but whether it was the Dark Sonata or Tserriednich's remaining aura, she'd never know.

Even with the lights on, the room had been an eerie, minimalist space. There had been the divan, a coffee table, a television, and chest of drawers. The most striking thing, however, had been the large window overlooking the ocean. It was a floor-to-ceiling ordeal, so pristine and _nice_ that Senritsu felt compelled to reach out to it, as if the sea had been calling out to her. When she'd gotten to the window, the vague handprints snapped her out of her trance. They had beenon the _outside_ of the room, not inside. Few creatures could have done that. It could have been a nen beast, but then she would have noted residual nen, but she'd seen nothing that could indicate another Prince's assassin.

They had been small hands, that of a teenage girl. What creature without the aid of nen could watch as a human being burned to death in his room, hovering hundreds of feet above the water? Senritsu knew of only one such creature. She'd known when she walked out of that room and traveled through the air vents back to the peasant's deck. She's known when she climbed into her tiny bunk.

She'd known when she learned of Chrollo's death. Only one entity in this world could kill a man that powerful, and leave no evidence of foul play. Hunters were natural skeptics, but even the brightest knew not to approach a demon from lore. The foolish ones always disappeared, but those who knew not to ask questions and keep their minds focused on surviving, they usually managed to escape.

And even _then,_ few flirted with the Dark Sonata and lived to tell the tale. Tserriednich had been a murderer of women and a collector of body parts, and had died in a private pose most would have been ashamed to be caught in. Chrollo had been a killer for riches, and he'd died drowning for something that probably wasn't worth much to the average Hunter, but for him, had been so important that he'd flown naked into the sea without alerting his mistress. Murasaki and the Dancing Warrior had been accomplices to heinous crimes, but being crushed to death and broken like a child's doll seemed cruel, unnecessary even. She barely knew anything about them, and none of them were connected to her personally. They were part of Kurapika's war and yet... and yet she _knew_ the Dark Sonata had sung them to sleep.

Zorik and Senritsu had been children. Barely only enough to drink the wine that they'd stolen that night, they had been young, ambitious, obsessed with the pretty sounds the world had to offer, and the ones they could make together. Had transforming her into a hobgoblin-like creature with no discernible traits of her original body been penance for calling upon this higher power? Was Zorick burning to death, his lips etched into an eternal scream, a punishment that fit the crime?

Senritsu wiped the tears from her eyes, and then rolled up the sleeve of her smock. Unfurling the bloody bandage, she stared at the bubbling flesh that perpetually bled. It hissed and crackled, spitting out blood and fat. Not all of her body was perpetually roasting with the unseen heat. Only her arms and legs were mounds of boiling flesh. Her head, hands, and feet were pale white and doughy. The rest was riddled with a network of black and purple scars that never softened.

She didn't keep any mirrors. Kurapika had only ever seen a few inches of the sputtering flesh, and even then, just for a few seconds. He knew nothing of the scars that reached over her stomach, her back, and her chest. Her inner thighs and mound used to grow dark brown hair, but now they sprouted white, prickly hairs that hurt to groom. She had no eyebrows, and her eyes were a dull blue. A bald pate that never grew any hair, white hair that was coarse to the touch- she was more of a stout old woman than she was a twenty-three year old Music Hunter.

A long time ago, she had brown hair, big brown eyes, and stood well over six feet tall. She had been fat and jovial, a perpetually smiling flutist who was big and healthy, and full of life and laughter. Now she was a troll most mistook for a tiny old man, something she rarely corrected, and only when she thought the person special.

How she'd managed to tell Kurapika so nonchalantly that day was still surprising to her. Was it possible to find comfort in fear? His heartbeat when he passed beside her made her tremble at her core, and yet, after spending mere days with him after the fact, she'd found a modicum of peace in his raging heartbeat.

He'd promised to kill her if she got in his way, and she'd accepted. He reminded her of her promise when she tried to stray him from Tserriednich's door, and so she'd walked away. Was she willing to die for her ideals? No, she wasn't. She hadn't killed herself after Zorik died, and she hadn't killed herself after realizing no human would lie with her because her body had been transformed into that of a gremlin. She'd survived this long on her own advice, and she'd keep living until she found the demon that did this to her and lift her punishment.

Even if she had to leave Kurapika to his fate.

* * *

She was sitting on her bunk and going through the blueprints of the ship's Royal deck when Hisoka peeked in to comfort her. He enjoyed their partnership, but her never-ending melancholy put a damper on his blithe spirit. Sometimes, she'd be so absorbed in her sorrow that she wouldn't notice that the clothes she wore sported dried bloodstains. The bandages she burned in the steward's pit didn't go without notice- _his_ notice, at least. She was hurt, Chrollo was dead, and he thought it poignant that he'd become _friends_ with this keen little creature.

Comfort- Hisoka only found such peace in mayhem, death, fighting, and hunting. How did one console a troll? When he'd discovered the answer, he was delighted to share his findings with her, but then news of Chrollo's death spread throughout the ghastly ship, and now the Scarlet Eyes brought her pain while Hisoka urged himself _not_ to eliminate the Kurta on whim and instead focus on the positive aspects of dealing with a melancholic woman.

Once he'd entered the room and locked the rusty door behind him, he took off his clothes and stood naked in front of the small woman. She blinked before her eyes widened comically. Hisoka giggled in response. Bending over, he booped her nose and gave her a wink. “Your turn.”

She cleared her throat and said politely, “no, but thank you.”

His smile widened as he straightened his pose. Grasping the metal rail of the top bunk, he turned off his nen and let the facade melt away.

* * *

Feitan Portor snapped another one of the Mafia woman's fingers, eliciting yet another piercing scream that made his friend, Franklin Bordeau, grimace.

“What I don't get is how three, whole humans can just... die without you hearing a single sound.” Feitan rubbed his chin and sighed. “I get sleepy too, especially after a good fuck, but _how_ does someone nap their pretty little head off while an entire person gets crushed inside a cabinet? How about when Bono was being scraped out with a shovel that came from the _steward's_ quarters? How the fuck does that happen?”

She whimpered helplessly while Franklin rolled his eyes and handed Feitan a pair of clippers. He set to work shearing off her toes. Standing behind the woman were Machi Komacine and Nobunaga Hazama. They watched with stern expressions. Feitan found that the Mafia woman's screams were pitiful, and her answers even more useless. Once Feitan had finished clipping all ten toes off, Nobunaga impatiently handed him the bleach while Machi injected a eugeoric into the woman's neck.

Bleach on an open wound was an old tactic, but it was a faithful one. They never stopped screaming after that.

But then her screams became intermingled with the soft sobbing of a young male, and Feitan furrowed his eyebrows at the familiar sound. “Not now, Kalel,” he grumbled in his head, but when Machi and Nobunaga gave him twin looks of confusion, he realized that he'd spoken out loud.

“Untie me, Tan,” he wept. “Please.”

“Feitan, what's wrong?” Machi's voice was soft, but guarded.

“... you didn't hear that?”

“The bitch is crying, there's not much you can hear over her,” Franklin groused.

“Tan,” it cried again. “Tan, untie my hands... let me go.”

He dropped the clippers when he saw the thick, russet-colored string laying next to his feet. He followed their length up to the rafters of the warehouse, and to a window that looked out towards the sea. Sitting on the rafter was a young man with light brown hair and dark brown skin.

“Kalel,” Feitan said softly.

The crying figure began to sing broken lines of an old song, a song that originated from Feitan's homeland, a country that was nothing but burnt earth right now. His language was nearly dead, but whatever knowledge he had, he taught his beloved- his now dead husband.

He slapped himself, trying to shake away the illusion. “Dead don't rise,” he mumbled frantically to himself. “Dead don't rise, dead don't rise, dead don't-”

He found himself back in Meteor City, fifteen years in the past. He was twenty years old and a simple fruitseller, married to a cripple and making just enough to get by- but not enough to live. He'd become a murderer a year later, a member of the Phanton Troupe three years after that, and a widower by twenty-five.

“You're the one who slit his wrists!” He bellowed at the specter that wore his beloved's face and had its bloody hands tied by taut piano wire. “I was working to give us a better life! You gave up on us first! You let _me_ go!”

The being that looked like Kalel continued to cry and sing, except now, his tears were red instead of clear streaks, and the lyrics he expelled were gibberish. Blood- his beloved was crying blood and singing nonsense while piano strings broke his flesh and slit his wrists all over again.

He howled like a wounded wolf while reaching out to the devil wearing his beloved's face, but before he could get close, the doors to the warehouse opened and bathed the room with yellow light.

* * *

“Your arm,” she gasped. “Your leg!”

“Fake, and fake!” He responded gleefully.

“... your face....”

“I died,” he added.

“But you lived,” she countered.

“But I _died,_ ” he insisted. “OK, now your turn.”

She pondered on the request for several minutes before agreed. She sighed, got up, and pulled the smock off her rotund figure. She didn't wear any undergarments due to the sensitivity of the sharp hairs on her vagina and inner thighs. “Tada,” she said dejectedly.

Hisoka shook his head. “ _All_ of it.” He pointed at the bandages covering her arms and legs. She froze. “You don't want to see that.”

“I've already seen the blood,” he replied casually. “I look like a skinned turkey- you can't be any worse off than me.”

She gulped but began unraveling the bandages anyway. If she was going to leave this ship with her old body, then someone deserved to know what the _full_ consequences of the Dark Sonata. Once she finished, the skin crackled and hissed in the open air, spitting blood and body oils.

Hisoka looked intently for several seconds before falling onto his knees and crawling over to her small body. She stepped back until her back his the wall. He kept crawling towards her until he finally reached her feet. He first sniffed the burning flesh of her leg, and then made his way up to the blue and purple scars of her chest. His leathery, noseless face never touched her skin, for the sharp bristles of her pubic hair. When he finally reached her face, he blinked. She blinked back.

“You're pretty,” he said thoughtfully.

“Is that so.”

“... yes. Pretty- very pretty.”

“Hm.”

His lipless teeth touched hers. When he pulled back, he smiled. “And that was a kiss.”

She felt her lips with the pads of her pudgy fingers. “... yes.”

He leaned against the bunk and fidgeted with a smile. “Would you like to kiss some more?”

Senritsu looked at the hideous creature with leathery skin and no nose. He was missing limbs, fingers, a nose, lips, and any of semblance of uniformity that made his visage a human one. He was a killer for money and pleasure. He hid behind nen and quirky smiles while his body was nothing but a broken machine that couldn't stay up without the help of nen-based illusions. And yet, even though his body was defective, his mind wasn't. He was still a chipper character. Dangerous, still, as he sought to kill out of sheer pettiness, but he had yet to treat Senritsu's mission as a chore. In fact, it seemed like the only chore in Hisoka's life was Death itself. He neither feared it, nor welcomes it. It was beneath him to acknowledge its power, and so he thrived. He was an ugly human being- as ugly as a person could get on the outside to reflect the rotten core within.

And yet, he'd offered to comfort her when no else would. She thought about the open sea. Her final resting ground seemed to be the bottom of the ocean if she didn't find a way to confront the Dark Sonata and regain her true form. She knew that if she failed, she'd fall into the depths alone, but did she have to live out her last days the same way? Holed away like a troll? Unable to reach out to someone she felt deeply for? Succumb to her loneliness, now until she died? Hisoka was neither her friend nor her enemy, and yet, he held out his remaining hand, a charred and leathery limb missing most of its fingers.

“... yes.”

She stepped forward and kissed him.

 

* * *

 


	4. Nadir

“The Kakin army had to get involved,” Biscuit said gruffly. “The lady of the Mafia was already dead when her associated entered. There were stimulants and bleach in her system. They shot up the whole place with the Troupe inside.”

Kurapika sighed. “How did they even get in?”

“Phinks Magcub shot Prince Camilla. She came to him as the benefactor of the Mafia family, and to negotiate a deal to save the woman's life. He shot her point blank... and then he died, and she came back to life.”

“Her nen beast,” Kurapika whispered. “How did she manage to escape the Royal decks?”

“Just like how you managed to gain access to the floorplan of Tserriednich's quarters,” Biscuit chuckled. “Anything's possible... as long as you're not trying to leave the boat.”

“... they found Fugetsu and Kacho then.”

Biscuit nodded. “Drowned in a dignitary's pool.”

“If they won't fight in the war, they'll be killed on the water.”

“Coroner's notes fit the official announcement, but during the autopsy, he noted saltwater in the girls' lungs.”

“And the dignitary?”

“He's been put to death. Of course, the talk in the military barracks tell me that the King has an arrangement with the dignitary's family.”

“Money?”

“Marriage- the surviving Prince will marry either his son or his daughter.”

“And Tserriednich's guards?”

“Charred in a fire pit in the steward's ward,” Biscuit recalled. “They didn't make it out either.”

“Did anyone survive the shootout?”

“Machi Komacine, Nobunaga Hazama, and Kalluto Zoldyck were all reported to have slipped onboard, but their bodies haven't been found yet.”

“So they're still hunting.”

“I assume so.”

Kurapika looked out to the open sea and thought about the Eyes hidden in Tserriednich's quarters. Then he thought about Oito, and Woble, and Gon, and Killua, and everyone he might never see again.

“I can't protect them forever.”

Biscuit bristled. “You're not supposed to. Your job is to make sure they survive this ship- not if they survive this world.”

“I can't take that kind of responsibility,” he insisted. “I'll drop them off at the Hunter Association and...” He didn't know what to say next because he wasn't quite sure what he'd do with his life after the last pair of Eyes had been retrieved. They were still locked away in Tserriednich's storage closet, along with all of his other treasures that weren't on display in his outer chambers.

Who was he when he wasn't hunting Spiders, or his family's Eyes?

“If you love me, you'll come home,” whispered the little ghost. “You'll come home- won't you, Kurapika?”

“What's home, Pairo?” He mumbled softly into his ear.

Was it where the Kurta's old home used to stand, or was it Death's final embrace?

* * *

Senritsu returned to Tserriednich's quarters, but this time, she went deeper into the chambers to retrieve the Scarlet Eyes. She saw the many video tapes the Fourth Prince had neatly stacked in chronological order. There were scarves made of the softest silk, each with a little spray of dried blood. There were old shoes and pretty jewelry. There were chests full of uncut diamonds, and containers full of exotic foods and confections. Finally, on top of a cherry oak stand stood a glass cylinder holding a perfectly preserved head with a pair of Scarlet Eyes. Senritsu blinked away the tears as she climbed on top of a chest to reach the head. It was cut cleanly at the base of the throat, and seemed to be of a young boy who couldn't have been more than twelve years old at the time of his death. She wiped away the tears and climbed down her makeshift stairs.

She left the head with the Scarlet Eyes in Biscuit's chambers without any note.

* * *

“Use it as a garotte, Machi,” Pakunoda's ghost told her stiffly. “You can't use the stitches to heal us anymore. The dead don't come back; you know that. He's more zombie now than he is human. Kill him, Machi. It's all you have left.”

 


	5. Supernova

Senritsu sat out on the outer deck of Prince Camilla's quarters, a fine place with gentle lighting and a beautiful balcony wreathed in fresh flowers, even though the Prince had been dead for days. She sat on cushioned chair and wiped the remainder of the dust off her flute as she waited for the sun to dip. It seemed poignant to do this on a night so warm, even though the deck beneath her feet was cold and the smell of burning flesh forever a reminder of her sin. She smiled wanly. Her exposed arms and legs breathed in the gentle breeze as the boils hissed and popped in the open air. With the gentle thrum of the sea hundreds of feet below guiding her heartbeat, Senritsu felt at peace.

When it ended, she intended to jump. After all, that's why she'd brought out the flute. Death wasn't a fool, even if she was one herself. Who gave Zorik her flute? Who begged the boy to play a song for the girl? Who suggested they eat and drink out in the woods, celebrate their love underneath the stars because Senritsu had finally gained her Hunter license? What did foolish lovers do in times of euphoria? Did they think about tomorrow, about the days in the future they'd spend making the same mistakes over and over again? What were they thinking about that night- sixteen and in love? Tears slipped down her cheeks as she remembered those final moments before the fall, those moments that were the happiest of her life. They'd sung songs, drunk wine, failed to build up the courage to make love underneath the sky and stars, so then they'd resorted to talking, naked and bubbly creatures underneath a flimsy blanket. They'd talked about love, and music, and then she asked him to play the song. She _insisted-_ and so he did.

“Why don't you play a song in his memory? I'm sure you remember the notes.”

Senritsu breathed in the fresh air, letting the of sea salt linger on her lips as she prepared flute. “The moon looks beautiful tonight.”

“Does it?”

She smiled, her tears a collection of tiny crystals. “It does.”

And then, she played.

* * *

For Hisoka, fear was the most palpable emotion in the world. You could taste it on a person's skin, see it in a person's eyes, and sense it in their movements. Real fear could twist the individual- make sure they never grew out of their pain and horror. Hisoka feared few things in his life, but never a person. You couldn't fear people- people died. Ideas never perished, countries took too long to crumble, infrastructure too boring, but flesh was easily torn apart. Life was easily extinguished.

Machi wasn't a friend, but she _was_ merciful. The least he could do was drop her head off in Meteor City when he hopped off the boat and went back to the mainland. He looked at the other two bodies, one belonging to Illumi's little brother, and the other to Nobunaga Hazama. They were both unrecognizable after his flurry of strikes. Save Machi's head, the rest of her was also a mangled mess. He hadn't meant to make such a mess, but he was in a sour mood. He couldn't find his melody, the stout little creature who reeked of trepidation and barely made a move to be noticed by those around her. She was sneakier than him, and he was a murderer with a penchant for _both_ theatrics and deadly silence.

And now there were three dead Troupe members at his feet. He flicked his tongue, and urged his senses to taste the air and follow the fear- follow it so he could find her, the troll with the beating heart.

* * *

“They're just people looking for a better life,” she said softly, her eyes focused on sea and moon instead of the creature behind her.

“Kuukyosa¹ can't be colonized. Anyone with intentions to settle after they enter the straits will either die, or suffer a fate worse than death.”

“Are you their guardian?”

It chuckled, the sound dry and hoarse, almost as if the creature hadn't laughed in years. “No. They can protect themselves.”

Senritsu thought deeply. “Why Tserriednich? And Chrollo Lucifer? The Princes were forced into the Succession War, and the Phanton Troupe came to steal's the Royal treasures. Why did they have to die?”

“Lust is a powerful motivator; avarice is unquenchable. Shame followed the torturer, regret the healer, and rage almost killed your beloved with the Scarlet Eyes.”

“And me?”

“How many times have you thought about telling your beloved the truth? That the only reason you're still alive isn't because I cursed you- but because I spared you?”

* * *

How fast had he run when he found out there was a way to hunt down the Phantom Troupe? How quickly had he put his life on the line to avenge the death of his family? How many times had he chosen the abyss over recovery, the endless void over an iota of peace because he knew that he nothing without his missions, without Death?

_Senritsu!_

Enough- he'd suffered enough.

* * *

“You took my body.”

“And you finished my song. You previous lover only played one line and perished in my flames- but you played the whole piece. You played your flute while your skin burned in the black flames, and the hair on your head turned to ashes, as your body shrank, and your femininity became nothing but a relic.”

She sobbed as she laughed. “I invited a demon into my life.”

The crisp white sheet of music floated to her lap. “It was always in your memories... That which doesn't exist cannot be lost. Those who hear my song don't get to live- not unless they play the whole thing.”

“You want me to play the whole thing?”

“They will help,” it said. “Turn around, Senritsu. Meet your companions, your chorus.”

“And if I do, will you spare this ship?”

“No. Those who ache for Kuukyosa will die- whether it be by my hands, or my brethren's.”

“Kurapika then?” She thought about the anguished red eyes and a future that didn't exist. “.... and Hisoka? Prince Woble? Bisky? Queen Oito? They don't want to be there... Can you at least let _them_ go?”

“Can they let _themselves_ go? If they can stay away from the temptation of starting a new life on the black sand, then they can live. If they can accept their life right now, at this very moment- then yes.”

“... OK.”

She finally turned around to face her guide. He was just as she always assumed he would be, a long, shadowy creature with a man's face and limbs made of black flames that perpetually burned. She cleared her throat and put her flute to her lips. Instantly, black instruments filled the deck, each helmed by a different ghost. Pakunoda was at the violin, a bloated girl with wet hair at the harp, and a young man with slit wrists at the piano. Finally, a little boy with Scarlet Eyes emerged from the darkness, sheet music in his hands. He smiled at her and mouthed 'thank you.'

Senritsu smiled back, and began to play her flute.

* * *

“Where is she?” He asked the creature bathed in black shadows, its face hidden beneath a veil of white flowers.

“In the sea.”

“I'll kill you,” Hisoka promised.

“I look forward to it.”

* * *

“... Senritsu?”

“Kurapika?”

“Where are we?”

“I don't know.”

“I'm sorry, Senritsu.”

“... I'm sorry, too.”

* * *

Mito Freecss' hand shook over her open mouth as the news continued to replay the video footage of the Black Whale's demise. A drone had captured the video before flying back to the mainland. It showed the sea opening its mouth wide open, an endlessly dark void that eventually swallowed the ship whole.

* * *

“Help's coming,” Hanzo whispered to the young Queen and her sleeping baby while Biscuit Krueger kept their plank steady as they floated with the wind. “We're safe- we survived.”

* * *

Hisoka turned off his facade and laid back against the floating plank. He stared up at the stars, wondering which one was his beloved.

* * *

Senritsu frowned. “It was only supposed to be me. I'm sorry you had to come too.”

Kurapika shook his head, giving her a sad smile. “It's an honorable death. Bisky and Hanzo protected that woman and child better than I ever could.”

“So many people died, Kurapika...”

“We all have to die, Senritsu. It's nature, a reminder that our actions have consequences. I don't know- I'm a little excited. I never went on an adventure willingly after my family died. Everything always had an ulterior motive. Perhaps this place was meant to reinvigorate that wanderlust.”

Senritsu broke into a small smile. “Your family's waiting for you- you can travel this world with them.”

“It feels dreadful walking home alone. Would you walk with me- at least until the door?”

“... me?”

He nodded. “Just you and me this time- maybe you can teach me how to play a song on our way there. Maybe we can even take a detour, and see a bit of the world.”

She thought about it, thought about this existence after Death, this world where she was in her normal body once more. There was no pain, no darkness that bound her to Death. Instead, she'd ended up in a meadow of wildflowers, her flute in her hand, and her heart in her mouth. She was free.

“OK,” she said. “OK.”

* * *

**The End**

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¹: Kuukyosa is the transliteration for 空虚 さ, which means 'emptiness' or 'void' in Japanese.


End file.
